


12 Fluff Prompts of Christmas

by noxes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 12 Fluff Prompts, AOU didn't exist, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Cold Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Good, Hot Chocolate, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Implied Relationships, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nightmares, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter is a Little Shit, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Precious Peter Parker, Prompt Fic, Sassy Peter, Sleepy Cuddles, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Cuddles, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, he acts more like comic clint barton tbh, listen they all love their spider-dork ok, spiders can't thermoregulate and tony worries, tHAT'S A TAG??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-17 13:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16975566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxes/pseuds/noxes
Summary: Twelve days of Tony, Peter, and their big Avengers family being cute!(Some of the prompts may be a little late due to finals, but I'll do my best!)





	1. Cold Sleepy Cuddles

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 1: cold sleepy cuddles

Tony is up to his elbows in an Iron Man suit when his phone starts blaring the Spider-Man theme song.

 

(A theme song. Peter Parker has a fucking  _ theme song. _ What the hell. When. How.  _ Why. _ )

 

“FRI, could you answer that?” he asks absently, twisting a few loose wires together.

 

FRIDAY obliges, bringing Peter’s call up in hologram format. His vitals were posted alongside the call, letting Tony give them a once-over just in case. It was second nature by now--Peter could be just a tiny little bit extremely dense when it came to his own injuries.

 

“Hello, Santa’s Emporium, how may I help you today?” Tony says around the screwdriver he’s holding between his teeth, which falls out when he laughs at Peter’s prompt response: “Yeah, hi, do you have any gift suggestions for snarky old men?”

 

“Hey kid, what’s up?” Tony says cheerfully. The holiday season adds an extra layer to the innate joy he feels whenever Peter calls or visits. Or exists in general. “You’re not, like, bleeding out in an alleyway, are you?”

 

“Not this time, no,” comes Peter’s equally happy response. Kid  _ loves _ the holiday season. He and May got their Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving, roping Tony in to help decorate it.

 

(“Oh my gods, it’s  _ November _ , you absolute heathens,” he recalls saying. “You complete and utter madmen.”

 

“I know, we’re depraved animals,” May had responded cheerfully. “Now get your metal ass down here, Stark, before my nephew actually projects himself across the astral plane.”

 

“AAAAA IT’S CHRISTMAS,” Peter had shrieked in the background. “MR.STARKYOUGOTTAGETDOWNHERENOWIT’SFREAKINGCHRISTMASDUDE”

 

The tree had scraped the ceiling, and smelled faintly like oranges under the sharp, fresh scent of pine.)

 

“Alright then, what’s happening? Vulture break out? Nuclear crisis? Trouble picking out Christmas gifts?” Tony quips, threading a few more wires together and carefully soldering them.

 

“No-o-o, but you s-said to inform you when I was coming over,” Peter says, and now that Tony listens carefully, he can hear the faint whistle of the wind over the speaker. 

 

“You’re coming over?” Tony says, unable to keep the happiness out of his voice. He  _ loves  _ it when Peter decides to come over without being invited--it makes Tony feel like Peter trusts him.

 

“F-ffair warning, though--I’m, like, re-really cold right now. Like, f-frigid,” comes the response.

 

Tony hums, pulling his hands out of the suit and stepping over to the sink to wash his hands. “Is your suit heater on?”

 

“Yeah, f-full blast, but it’s n-nnot even making a dent. It’s about 3 deg-grees out here,” Peter says. 

 

“Alright, get here quick,” Tony says. He has a very good reason to be a little concerned--spiders apparently can’t thermoregulate, making Peter’s tolerance for cold drop like a brick. “I’ll get everything set up. Besides, I need to lecture you for calling _while_ swinging instead of _calling_ _before you leave._ ”

 

“Alright, okay. Bye, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. His smile is almost audible.

 

“ _ Tony, _ ” the billionaire reminds him. “Who calls their pseudo-father-figure ‘Mr.’?”

 

“Oh,  _ come on-- _ ”

 

“FRIDAY end call,” Tony says, smiling as Peter’s exasperated voice disappears.

\--

Peter sticks his head out of the elevator and into the penthouse, shivering and peering around.

 

“Mr. St- uh, Tony?” he calls out cautiously. There’s no response. 

 

His spidey sense is quiet so he steps out, which turns out to be a mistake as Tony lunges out from fuck-nowhere and ambushes him with a blanket.

 

“How many times--stop screaming, it’s just me-- _ how many times  _ have I told you to have Happy come pick you up in the winter? Three degrees outside, and you with your shit thermoregulation, and you choose to  _ swing _ down here?”

 

Peter chooses to ignore that in favor of watching Tony tuck all the corners of the blanket in around him. Barring the faux-annoyed rambling that streams from his mentor (constantly), Tony always acts like a downright mother hen whenever Peter is even remotely injured or sick. 

 

Tony quits speaking finally, taking the opportunity to stare at Peter’s face; take note of his red ears and nose, the spots of color in his otherwise pale face, the melting snow on his shoulders.

 

“Alright, go sit,” Tony finally says, patting Peter’s shoulder. “Grab the blankets and leave space on the couch for me.”

 

Peter grins and hurries off, tripping over the trailing end of the blanket as he does so. Tony smiles and goes to grab the snacks.

 

“Aw, sweet! You made hot chocolate!” Peter whoops, making grabby hands at one of the mugs that Tony brings over. Tony sips from his own mug, nudging Peter aside with his hip. “I said leave space for me, Pete. I don’t--I literally cannot understand how such a small person can take up so much space-”

 

“Not the height thing again, can’t you just drop it-” 

 

“ _ No I’m serious _ , you are short for your age--and probably underweight too-”

 

“Dude, I’m serious, I’m  _ fine _ -”

 

“You know, maybe if you weren’t so skinny, you’d be better at thermoregulation-”

 

“Yeah, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Peter snarks back, laughing at the offended look on Tony’s face.

 

“How  _ dare _ you even remotely imply that one of the sexiest men alive is fat, you little shit-”

 

“Okay first of all it’s not a bad thing to be fat,” Peter says, laughing into his mug. “Second of all, I didn’t mean  _ fat _ , just, y’know…”

 

“No, I don’t know, what  _ are _ you implying exactly, hmm?”

 

“You know, like,” Peter says, gesticulating. “Like. Fluffy. You know?”

 

“You are hereby banned from everything-- _ don’t put your head on my chest, we’re not cuddling after the insults I have just endured. _ ”

 

Peter grins and turns his head inwards, nuzzling into the space above Tony’s heart. After a few minutes, Tony gives in and Peter can feel his chest silently shake with laughter as he wraps his arms around his kid and pulls him in closer.

 

“You’re the worst,” Tony says into Peter’s curls. “Truly, you are the worst child ever.”

 

“Aw, you love me,” Peter says jokingly. There’s a short, soft silence, charged with something Peter can’t describe, before Tony sighs and kisses the top of Peter’s head.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

 

Peter blinks. He wasn’t expecting Tony’s voice to sound so serious, so soft and vulnerable. Like he’s admitting one of his most closely-guarded secrets.

 

“I love you too, Tony,” Peter says quietly. Tony’s arms tighten around him, pulling him in close, pressing his head into his mentor’s broad chest. Warmth seeps into Peter, loosening his joints and pulling a sigh from him.

 

They sit like that for a couple minutes, the boy curled into the older man. Peter feels very small, very young. Tony’s lips move, pressing kisses into the crown of his head, pushing his nose into Peter’s curly hair.

 

After a while, Tony pulls back a bit and gives Peter a crooked smile. “Wanna binge-watch Christmas movies?”

 

Peter smiles back, a little wetly. “Heck yeah.”

 

Of course, Peter falls asleep within the first few minutes of the first movie. Being cold makes him tired, movies make him tired, snuggling makes him tired, and besides that he’s exhausted from getting about 3 hours of sleep the night before (again).

 

When Tony notices that his kid is out like a light, he reaches over and snags a pillow from the end of the couch, settling it on his legs. Only then does he carefully lower Peter’s tired, curly head onto his lap, running his fingers through the fluffy hair and thinks for a bit.

 

He’s a billionaire, he’s a genius, he’s a former company owner (and playboy), he’s survived poisoning and shrapnel and heartbreak and about a million supervillains, he’s a literal freaking superhero.

 

Hell, his name is literally  _ Iron Man. _

 

Evidently, Iron Man’s not all iron, he thinks as he brushes Peter’s curls behind his ear and smiles as the kid nuzzles into his stomach. How could he possibly be, when this stuttering mess of a poor fifteen-year-old kid from Queens can make his chest feel so warm? What other person can elicit that particular swoop of pride and love deep in his belly?

 

Smoothing a thumb over Peter’s cheek, he’s suddenly glad that he’s not all iron. 

 

Tony’s happy that his heart is human.


	2. Blanket Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter makes a blanket fort and Clint is Less Than Helpful.

When Tony enters his living room, he doesn’t know what he’s seeing, at first. 

 

Is it a monster? Some giant, fluffy blob that’s currently hellbent on eating his couch?

 

...no, upon closer inspection, it’s a blanket fort. And, upon realizing that, Tony also realizes there really can be only one culprit. 

 

Surprisingly enough, it’s not Peter’s face that pops out from the blankets—it’s Clint’s. Grinning like a maniac, obviously. 

 

“Oh hey Tony—wait, hold up, gimme a sec,” the archer says, reaching up to fiddle with his hearing aids. “It’s really quiet in there, yanno. Soundproofed and whatnot. You want in?”

 

“Hello, Clint,” Tony says dryly. “So, uh, crazy question here.”

 

“Shoot,” Clint says, ratcheting his grin up a notch. “Or, rather, don’t, that’s my job.”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be  _ working _ right now?” Tony says, crossing his arms. 

 

“On the mission briefing? From Fury? We’re headed out to Honolulu in a few days? Hydra base? Any of this ring a bell?” he clarifies. 

 

Clint’s smile turns lazy. “Well, I mean, I  _ was _ going to check out the mission briefing and look over our supplies and memorize the maps and do routine maintenance on my arrows and generally start psyching myself up, when along comes this little jerk who starts putting pillows over where I am fastidiously studying.”

 

“He was sleeping, actually,” comes a muffled voice from inside the truly massive fort. “And, I might add, he made no objection whatsoever to Peter pillowing him in here.”

 

“ _ Naaaat, _ ” Clint whines. “Come on, I’m trying to seem like a functioning adult here.”

 

“You? Really? A functioning adult?” Tony says, stepping onto the carpet and appraising the fort. “This thing’s huge. Did Peter do all of this? Also, is he in there?”

 

There is a short pause, then a timid little “hi, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Can I come in?” Tony says. 

 

“Can you—uh, yeah! Yes! Absolutely, that is a thing. That you can do. At this time,” comes the excited young voice. Tony can’t help but smile as he climbs in. 

The fort is unusually spacious, covering the entirety of Tony’s big couch. Peter, his head in Natasha’s lap, grins like a Cheshire cat, the dim light filtering through the blankets making his dark eyes sparkle.

 

Tony looks around, settling down on a pillow. “Wow. How much time did you spend on this?”

 

“I started it, and then Natasha helped,” Peter says. “It took about an hour.”

 

Tony whistles through his teeth. Clint, looks offended.

 

“What about me, man? I helped!”

 

“No, you ‘helped,’” Natasha says, making air quotes. Clint grumbles.

 

Peter sits up. Nat looks a little sad at the loss of contact until Clint scoots over and flops in her lap instead. She doesn’t seem to mind.

 

Peter scrambles over to Tony, who opens his arms for the hug he knows is coming. “You were at your meeting for a while,” Peter’s voice says, muffled from being pressed into his shoulder. Tony presses his nose against Peter’s temple and doesn’t respond.

 

His meeting, in fact, was with Ross, and Ross has been  _ killing _ him, lately. Always trying to get the Accords back, always trying to destroy his reputation and his company.

 

And his family. The Secretary of State has now taken an interest in Spider-Man’s identity, and he seems positive that Tony knows who he is. He’s constantly pushing Tony to tell him, now.

 

Ross knowing Peter’s identity is something Tony  _ cannot _ allow to happen. The mere thought of such a brutal, vicious person being anywhere near Tony’s child makes something hard and angry clench in his chest. He responds by pulling Peter closer and kissing the spot just above his ear, then pulling the kid’s head down into his lap and beginning to stroke his hair.

 

Peter  _ loves _ it when Tony messes with his hair.

 

Tony and Nat make eye contact. Something unspoken passes between them. An agreement. Support.

 

Then the moment passes. They talk about nothing, quietly, mindful of the people who rest in their laps. Clint and Peter make faces at each other and giggle. 

 

All is well, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next one might be late i'm sorryyyyyy :,( i'm just rly tired rn


	3. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up. Tony wakes up.

Peter’s awake.

 

He doesn’t remember the dream he had. It could have been anything, honestly--getting crushed by a gangway or a giant hand in Germany, falling out of the sky and into the cruel water of the Hudson, metal talons plunging into his chest.

 

Concrete and metal, pressing into his back. Water trickling over his face. Breathing. Not breathing.

 

A gun, aimed at Ben. At Mr. Stark. At--at his dad.

 

It could have been anything. It could have been dying. It could have been someone else dying. Regardless, he wakes up flailing and disoriented, a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, sweat collecting in the hollows of his temples and his collarbone.

 

Well, he certainly isn’t going back to sleep.  _ Nope _ . Instead, he pulls a sweatshirt on and shuffles down to the kitchen. The lights over the counter turn on automatically, set to their lowest settings and shedding a warm glow on the marble countertop. Peter gets a mug down, grabs the kettle, yawning. Turns the sink on and fills the kettle with enough water for…

 

...two people. He can hear someone stumbling around upstairs. He doesn’t know who, he’s too tired to identify the heartbeat he can hear.

 

(On the days when things are quiet, Peter closes his eyes and listens carefully. Sometimes, he’s able to identify every Avenger in the building based on their heartbeat, their muffled voices.)

 

Peter squints at the stove, turning on the lower right burner. (It’s his favorite burner.) The little green numbers on the stove say 2:53 A.M. As he sits and waits for the kettle to boil, he hears the shuffling footsteps of... _ ah _ . Of course.

 

Tony’s sleep-mussed head appears around the corner, followed by the rest of him. His voice is bleary and tired when he says, “Hi, kid. What’s goin’ on?”

 

“Hi, Tony,” Peter says in response. “I’m, uh, I’m making hot chocolate. D’you want some?”

 

Tony nods silently and goes to grab pillows and blankets from the living room. Peter takes the hissing kettle off the burner and sets it on the counter. Ripping three packets of cocoa mix open, he pours two packets in one mug and one packet in another (Peter likes his hot chocolate sweet), then adds the water and marshmallows.

 

Walking into the living room with the cocoa, he’s greeted by Tony sitting on the sofa in a mass of blankets and pillows with the first episode of Brooklyn 99 fired up on the TV screen. Peter hands him his mug, then plops down beside him, letting Tony wrap the blankets around them both. Neither person asks what the other is doing awake. They know already.

 

The episode plays quietly on the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so fucking tired and stressed ughh finaaalllllsss

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudos or a comment! I live off of comments <3


End file.
